


sea foams, deep oceans

by Anonymous



Category: NCT (Band), SuperM (Korea Band), WayV (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Alternate Universe - Royalty, M/M, Mark Lee (NCT)-centric, Mentioned EXO (EXO), Mentioned Red Velvet Ensemble, Mentioned SHINee Ensemble, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Pirate NCT Ensemble, Prince Mark Lee (NCT), Rating May Change, violence in the later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:53:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23980072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Mark’s sole purpose tonight was to bail himself out and away for some hours before the ball in the palace started, probably get a little bit tipsy, then come back and act like he had never done such a thing.But everything suddenly took a sharp turn, and now... Here he was.Trapped in a fuckingpirate ship, howdelightful.
Relationships: Mark Lee (NCT) & Everyone, Mark Lee (NCT)/Everyone, Mark Lee/Lee Taeyong, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Kudos: 86
Collections: Anonymous





	sea foams, deep oceans

**Author's Note:**

> i'm bad at managing time and language, i'm sorry. but i will try and work hard to not neglect this.

Mark’s sole purpose tonight was to bail himself out and away for some hours before the ball in the palace started, probably get a little bit tipsy, then come back and act like he had never done such a thing.

After all, the work of a prince had always been indeed hectic—much more so now that he had already been crowned as the next to step on to the throne. To sneak out of the palace had never been a hard job before he was crowned. But now that he had held the title of _crown prince_ , Jongin—his one and only, trusted private guard—had also made it his mission to be completely, one hundred percent sure to refrain the young prince from running away by adding more guards around the palace. Baekhyun had even put Chanyeol as the head guard, knowing the big burly man was more than capable of tackling Mark down effortlessly, without breaking even a bead of sweat if he was to ever try and sneak out of the palace.

Fortunately, Mark was still able to escape, jumping off the edge of his window to latch onto a large, thick-branched oak tree that grew tall next to his room. Frequent escapades meant that he had to get over his fear of height—and with the help of Kibum and Yerim, he could get over the fear in no time. But there would always be a constant zap of adrenaline when he glanced down from high height, steadfast and consistently unremovable. Though it was much better than his other fears he had to get over with as well.

It was easy to walk along the main path of the country unrecognizable—the king had never let the public know of the prince’s face. Still, the retired servants would gladly try to describe the young prince as much as they could. And from the way the servant had told people, it was then believed that the prince was born with exquisite appearance and magnificent personality. Mark had snorted out his drink the first time he heard of the rumors—it was not even close to the truth. _Minhyung_ —his real, royal birth name, although he would like to just change his name to Mark someday—was no _Adonis_ , and he was sure he had only brought headache to the heads of those who were close to him. The way each town folks had described the crown prince _Lee Minhyung_ was like those they worshipped. Such a high thinking for someone they had never met yet. Mark sighed, shaking his head in disbelief as he reminisced how the folks had acted when he told them about that before. _The hostility…_ Mark shuddered. Thankfully, he had gotten away fast enough for him to be home relatively unscathed, leaving him with just enough scratches for Baekhyun to fuss over him like a protective _mama hen_.

Surely, the town folks would be disappointed beyond belief when they found out _the real crown prince_.

Mark silently lowered himself on the ground, keeping his footsteps light and noiseless in the quiet surrounding. Years of learning how to sword fight and dance had taught Mark the elegance and grace of carrying his body. He had Taemin to thank for that—surely, the stern pedagogue had taught Mark well if he was able to go outside the royal ground in silence. He went past the hidden opening near the bush of roses his mother loved to see, covered in wild grape’s vines and thickets. Small rivulets of dew from the pouring rain some previous hours wetted the fabric of his clothings, sharpening the dull color only by the slightest as the water was absorbed. Once or twice, either his cloaked robe or his mouth mask would get caught on the protruding dry branches, slowing down his attempt to escape. But the ball would take another few hours to start, so Mark had taken his sweet time to release the lodged branches from the fabric.

It took him another three minutes to clean his dirt-soiled pants, and another fifteen minutes to arrive right in the middle of the town square. Stalls and stores were still open and active, sellers shouting greetings and prices to the future customers, buskers filling the crowded town square with melodious music and voices. Mark could feel his heart jumped as he watched the crowd from the sideline, eyes in wonder but body uncooperative. He wanted to join them, but at the mere prospect of his personal space getting violated unintentionally, he reeled back in anxiety. No, Mark was not yet to be ready to be squished there. He would end up hyperventilating, for sure.

Instead of crossing the packed place, he steered himself to the side, watching the more deserted stores with keen interest. His eyes scanned the surrounding, taking over the sight and implanting them in his mind; a young man napping with straw hat covering the majority of his face, small kids running around playing tags, elderly folks sitting with their ever-so-present smiles, and a bunch of drunkards catcalling every single—or taken—attractive females that passed by in the alley where it led to the bar he regularly visited. Mark inhales deep, holding his breath before letting it out slowly. He despised old perverted drunkards with all the fibre of his being.

“Pretty babe, where ya’ goin’? Don’t ya’ wanna play with us?” One of them called him, the others laughing and wolfwhistling. Mark stayed mum—but deep down, internally, he retched in disgust; instead he walked past the alley to take the one further north. They saw nothing but his eyes—so how could they have the confidence to utter that nonsensical compliment as well as the disgusting proposal? As he walked away, responses of protests were loud behind him, but he ignored it for the sake of his sanity. Just as he could see the bar from inside the alley, the same men appeared right in front of him, covering the exit persistently. Mark had half the mind to just kick the man where it hurted the most, but his conscience called him out and told him to turn back. Unfortunately, behind him, half of the group of those men had completely demolished his idea to go back out from the alley.

Just his luck, that he was completely trapped. Now the idea of booting these men on their crotch seemed much more appealing.

“ _Fuck off_ ,” Mark growled, completely pissed off. He just wanted to drink some alcohol, and preferably be a little tipsy, and these men stopping him only did wonders on his already lit flame of irritation. “Fuck off, assholes. I’m trying to be nice here, but you all seem to test my patience.”

“Oh, feisty, _so scary_.” The men laughed, and right at the moment Mark could feel his patience thread snapped violently. He mustered up all his strength and forced it out from his right foot, swinging it up to boot the closest man up his groin brutally, airing out a sickening _crunch!_ as the hard surface of his heel dug to the _bones_. And just like that, all hell broke loose.

Multiple fists were swinging like they were controlled by a madman, expletives were thrown off as easy as a piece of cotton in the middle of a tornado wind. Mark stepped aside, watching the men fight with each other dumbly. The men were just too drunk to realize Mark had escaped the bloody fist fight. But once again, his bad luck striked in—as he was suddenly pulled away from the scene by two pairs of muscular hands, holding him down and covering his mouth. Mark grunted, glaring daggers as he was dragged away, cursing his bad luck streak that just had to attack him today of all time.

Jongin had better hunt these men down when Mark had the chance to escape, or he swore to gods—

He struggled, yanking his body back and forth to loosen the painful grips, but it only worked to loosen the palm which covered his mouth. Not one to lose an opportunity, Mark bit the palm, hard enough to catch the men off guard but not hard enough to break any bones. But it seemed that Mark should've just bitten as hard as he can.

"Th'fuck?!" One of the men, with red hair pulled up in a high small ponytail, yelped like a madman without loosening the grip on his bounded wrists. The others snorted, not even sparing a glance his way. It irked Mark out, somehow.

"Release me." Mark hissed, body lurching forward to try and escape from the holds. He steeled his voice and tone to make it more absolute and authoritive, but it was either that the men were completely _dumb_ or they just didn’t care at all. Mark would like to think it was the former, but from their indifference and aloofness, Mark thought it would be for the latter reason. Never in his life did Mark ever consider the fact that he would get kidnapped, one way or another. Okay, that was a big fat lie, but the real thing was that never in his life would Mark believe that today of all days, was the day when he was getting kidnapped.

He should’ve listened to Sooyoung when she warned Mark not to escape today. If what she had told Mark was true, then that meant these people who held Mark captive could possibly be those pirate crews who went around the town to search for a new addition to their ship. She even whispered conspiratorially that Seungwan had accidentally met one of them, only to be released when Chanyeol had interfered. The descriptions she had recited then was almost identical to these men—unruly hair, eccentric clothing style, badly-sewn neon green colored fabric on the sleeve part that clashed with the muted and dark colors of their other clothings, and what stood out the most: the impossibly, uncannily, ridiculously handsome features of their overall appearances.

It should be impossible for _anyone_ to look _that_ good in _those_ kinds of outré fashion styles. But yet it worked for them—must be great to have such a privilege.

“Didn’t I tell you to release me?” Mark pressed further, frustration dwelled inside his chest and grew into a big glob of fury. The expression of the men turned pinched, and Mark couldn’t even let out a surprised—or offended—gasp when one of the men hefted him up like a sack of potatoes. Mark grunted, newly released hands flailed around to hit his lifter’s back violently. The man didn’t react—not even the slightest flinch was shown. He simply turned to _boredly_ — _the fucking audacity!_ —ask another one of those men to cover his eyes with a piece of torn fabric as a makeshift blindfold.

“What for?” A way too cheery voice piped up, and Mark snarled. Way too cheery, for someone who had just kidnapped a _whole-ass adult_. Something, or probably _someone_ , whacked the owner of the voice, resulting in a protesting whine of unacceptance.

“To prevent him from knowing the way back to town in case he escapes, you dumb—” Muffled voice ringing with annoyance and a cry of rage aired from somewhere on his right, before the man who carried him shushed them like a scolding strict mentor. The rest of the walk turned to be uneventful— _thank God for that_ , Mark mentally sighed—but a lingering feeling of unsettlement remained in the back of his mind, odd and stubborn.

It took approximately half an hour for them to arrive in their destination, and all the way from back in front of the bar to here, the man who hauled him up his shoulder didn’t even bat an eyelash. His posture was still broad and sturdy, as if he was picking up a sack of cotton instead of a young man in his early twenties. Mark’s thought suddenly wandered back, reminiscing the memory of how those _musculus biceps brachii_ — _oh my god Mark shut up with the anatomy talks!_ —flexed, thick and robust and firm when his fingers accidentally brushed them. He remembered inwardly comparing the thickness of the muscle definition with his thigh, the way the man had handled him as if he weighed nothing, and Mark immediately perturbed with how unfair the world was. He wanted to be at least a quarter as muscular and strong as the man, but even the ever-so-stoic Taemin had guffawed back then when he told him about his dream of being strong and big.

He was just on the verge of getting lost in his daydream, when the man who had carried him put him down _almost_ gently—which also meant, _a little too_ harshly—and successfully jerking him back from his reverie. His knees felt weird, like he had lost his kneecaps, and it made his legs shake like those of newborn fawn’s.

The first thing Mark had seen the very first time the blindfold was yanked from his eyes was a figure of a crouched man. The night wind blew harsh on his skin, and goosebumps rose on his skin. The sound of waves crashing at the port was really vivid even minutes before his blindfold was taken off. The pungent smell of salt and fish were almost too offending for his nose, and of course it would—he was in a ship, probably owned by the _pirates_ , based on the bold carving on the wooden quarterdeck and the flag of the ship. Too bad, that he couldn’t read what was carved there. His eyesight was a little blurry after some time, being covered with a piece of cloth and all. Sooyoung was right—there was indeed pirates in the town, and now that they had kidnapped someone, they had planned to leave the town as easy as they had come.

Now… Trapped in a fucking _pirate ship_ , how _delightful_.

The hands which held his shoulders tight shoved him down, forcing him to kneel. Mark grimaced as his knees hit the ground hard enough for his skin to bruise, but that thought had disappeared as fast as it had come when a man who seemingly held the authoritative responsibility stepped out to face him. The man emerged like an otherworldly creature, with his molten gold of orbs and flaming red hair, coupled with an array of metal and silver piercings on his right ear. If Mark didn’t know any better, he would have thought that the scars on his face were placed strategically to maintain the attractiveness of his facial features. There was one visible under his left eye, shaped either like a blooming rose or like a fluttering butterfly. Such a beauty and elegance was in contrast to the man’s hardened features and piercing eyes. His eyes held something sadistic and merciless in them, and the aura he emanated were ones of ruthlessness and heartlessness. Mark shivered at the way those eyes swept over him, like a predator to its prey—calculating and demeaning, as if he wouldn’t hesitate or think twice to pounce and kill, had Mark done something the man detested.

“And who are you, young boy?” The man carried a debasing lilt in his tone, and his eyes glimmered in interest. There was something on the way he talked, like the question was addressed to anyone but him, as if he was only a decorative accessory—a silent object of some sort. It fed on the flare of annoyance and resentment flaming inside him, and Mark couldn’t help it when he bared his teeth in disdain. The man didn’t even blink at him.

“We found ‘im almost fightin’ the drunk’rds in tha’ usual bar, Cap’. H’looks smart ‘nough f’r the job,'' one of the men who caught him sneered, chapped lips pulled into an aggravating smirk. Mark fumed with rage, glaring at two set of dark orbs that looked at him in a funny manner. _Fuckin’ pirates_ , he seethed mentally, _fuck them and their unnervingly irritating personalities_.

The man—who was presumably _the captain_ , as that previous man had entitled him as—made a noise of amusement, a hint of smile passed on his face for some milliseconds before it smoothed out in a straight line of stoicism. Some silent minutes had ticked by, before he opened his mouth and asked some questions to both of the men with so much seriousness on his face. Mark gritted his teeth—he just wanted this to be over with. He had little to thirty minutes to go back to the ball, and the distance from the port to the palace itself would take at least twenty five minutes. That would’ve meant by the time he had arrived, the king would’ve started to search for him.

“We need to buy more things—and that means more _gold_ , Cap’.” Mark had perked up at that. Some ideas came through his head, and the thought of coming out of the ship alive had had Mark’s head reeling with thoughts.

Mark knew at this point of his life, revealing his royal status could bring two different types of outcome. It was either he would be forced to jump off the plank, or he would be killed firsthand, or on an even rarer occasion—and possibly impossible occasion—he would be released before the royals had known of the abduction. All of the possibility seemed _okay_ for him, although the latter possibility was still the most he wished for. The thought of falling down the high plank gave a thrill of fear running down his spine, but the thought of _dying_ right away caused the chill to run slower and more intensely. There were also possibilities of him being sold or kept as a captive for the royals or someone else to pay a huge amount of price, but honestly, those thoughts were not really that scary when compared with the dying possibilities. And _honestly_ , that was going to be his intention—to surrender himself and possibly go as far away as possible from this hellish nightmare of a ship.

So with a bated breath and made up mind, he tipped his chin higher and steeled his glare. Mustering up a courage from deep inside his bone turned out to be almost too difficult, but mustering up a deep growl from the base of his throat was easy.

“I’m the crown prince of this place,” he hissed while struggling in the strong holds of the men. “I could give you all the golds you _want_ , if you release me right this instant.” The captain only laughed, the sound condescending and haughty. His bony fingers reached to grip tightly onto Mark’s jaw, forcing him to look up and glare straight to the man’s eyes. He hummed, golden eyes flashing dangerously. It scanned the sight in front of him thoroughly while an amused smirk graced his infuriatingly handsome face, and Mark couldn’t help but snarl when the man purposely tugged his face closer to his. The man snorted at the attempt to be intimidating, showing his uncanny canines; long and big and unnervingly sharp, glinting with ferocity under the dim moonlight glow. The sight got Mark wondering about the possibility of this man being not a mere human.

“You are gorgeous, indeed,” the captain noted, “the folks did say the crown prince was pretty, but you are no crown prince. Still, I must give appreciation to your effort—though you are awfully bad at lying.” The crew around them started to bellow out booming laughs, some even jeered at the bounded young man in mockery. Mark could only grit his teeth and _pray_ —wishing to the highest stars for the aid to come faster. Surely, Jongin would’ve realized by now that Mark had gone missing. But again, Jongin had also known of Mark’s lousy habit of escaping only to come back approximately five seconds before the king had asked for his presence.

So Mark really could do nothing other than _hope_.

***

The captain had put him inside a narrow cell-like cubicle, much to Mark’s disdain.

It wouldn’t be that bad, if Mark didn’t have a case of claustrophobia. A mild one, thank the heavens, but still, claustrophobia _is_ claustrophobia, and in the end, Mark did feel like his lungs were squeezed tight in a firm grip by an invisible hand, on the edge of exploding and combusting altogether. He gasped shallowly, trying to contain the sound. It’s probably already past midnight, but Mark couldn’t be sure, since the last time he saw the time was when he had been preparing for his escapade. The already small place felt even more cramped as the time went, and Mark grew even more breathless as the feeling of being restricted became bigger. His sight blurred, his head spun, and he was certain that his body was shaking tremendously—trembling like a single leaf in the middle of a rough storm.

“Yo, pretty boy, ya’ sick or sumthing?” A voice piped up from the front of his metal bars. Although Mark’s eyes were open, his sight was fucked enough for him to not see anything other than the stars that had decorated the corners of it. He grunted out a weak _no_ , before he forcefully dragged his body away from the metal bars. It was proven to be an incredibly difficult job, as the restrain that was wrapped around his ankle did nothing but rattled a bit. His breathing started to grow shorter and heavier and louder, the sound more of a heaving rather than a normal routine of rhythmic inhale-exhale. Mark had tried to calm himself; to slow down his ragged breath by recalling the memory of Baekhyun’s serene voice which told him to _calm down, breathe in with me—one, two, three—breathe out—one, two, three—repeat after me, good job, yeah, just like that, you’re doing amazing right now—_

A pair of arms engulfs him in a tight embrace, and Mark’s first instinct was to get away and far from the confining touch.

“Calm the fuck down—! Shit, open the door for me!”

“But cap—”

“Just open the damned door for fuck’s sake!”

Mark thrashed, pushing the captain further from him. His senses got him overwhelmed, and the shouting man’s proximity didn’t help. He even tried to hit the sturdy chest; a weak, sluggish move that must have felt like nothing for the sea-toughened man. Someone then yanked his hands away from the base of his neck, keeping him still.

“Breathe, boy.” The commanding tone pierced and evaded his auditory sense, forcing him to tune every noise down except for the oddly warm honeyed voice. “Count with me, one, two, three— don’t hold your breath too long, let it out through your nose.” Mark followed the instruction until he had calmed; breathing slowed down and exchanged with a loud sob. Salty tears gathered on the corner of his eyes, burning like a flurry of fire down his chin and dripping down messily on top of his lap. He didn’t realize he had been babbling nonsense up to when his ears had cleared from the ringings, something along the way of _no_ , _don’t wanna_ , and _too cramped_. There were long, callused bony fingers that combed through his tangled hair—wiping the mess of sweat, tears and dirt on his forehead and slightly massaging his scalp. By the time he was calm enough to open his shut-tight eyes, the whispered shout had lessened by a huge amount and the blurry sight had become clearer. The fingers had untangled themselves from his hair several minutes prior, but the hum of a lullaby still resounded through the room.

The serene atmosphere was the closest feeling to peace, so Mark allowed his eyes to fall close and his breath to even out. Short sleep overtook his fatigued mind, and he slowly drifted to a dreamless sleep for some long minutes. By the time he woke up and opened his eyes again, a figure of a man shadowed over him from the seat nearby the bed.

“You’re awake.” A man—the captain— _announced_. His striking appearance looked a little less harsh under the flickering candle light, but his glinting eyes only appeared to be more _golden_ and penetrating. His red locks of hair twirled from the blow of the wind, colored red and orange like the candle’s fire. Silence stretched like a pull of rubber band, before snapping as the captain stood up from his seat a few feet away from the bed. Mark shrunk, curling himself up in an instinct to protect himself from whatever the captain was going to do at him. The man seemed even more intimidating as he hovered in front of Mark, perplexed and a little bit distracted.

“You’re gonna stay here from now on,” the man spoke, voice void of emotion and face stoic. “The restraint on your hands are released, but the one around your ankle will be kept for security purposes. We can’t have anyone we don’t trust running around the deck yet.”

Mark didn’t say anything—didn’t _want_ to say anything. The man had made it loud and clear, although rather explicitly mentioned, that Mark will be kept as a captive. Being kept in a bigger room with a soft bed and warm blanket was much too advantaged for a captive like him, so he couldn’t and shouldn’t ask for more. The man had been kind and way too generous at him. And after all, it would definitely take time for the rescue to come. He was already miles away from his room, adrift in the middle of the ocean, on the way to go to god-knows-where. Might as well try to keep his limbs intact before Jongin and Baekhyun would find him.

The man had only spared him a glance, before he left the cabin. Sounds of heavy boots on top of the wooden floor echoed throughout the room, and Mark curled his body closer while closing his eyes to sleep all the night away.

The next day, Mark had woken up with bright sun rays caressing his face and windblows fluttering his eyelashes.

The ship was still sailing, drifting slowly on the calm waves of the sea. Briny smell of the salty sea water washed over his olfactory sense, and crows of the seagulls reverberated throughout the ocean. Mark had felt a tad bit sick—unaccustomed to the length of time spent on top of a huge shifting ship. It was nauseating; he had even tried to change posture, but it still got his mouth full with overflowing saliva. Every breath he took added the amount of saliva he excreted, and the headache had gotten even worse. His nose bridge and temples throbbed, painful and unyielding and just overall _torturing_. The neverending movement of the ship threading through the waves didn’t help his motion sickness, only worsened his headache and heightened his overloaded senses.

Another bigger and stronger wave washed through, elevating the huge ship up in the air for some milliseconds. Mark curled into a smaller ball, warm comforter tangled and bunched up to his forehead. His breath got shallower as the urge to vomit grew, but he could do nothing other than to contain his pained whimper. His mind wandered, and suddenly he could imagine the way Jongin would brush his sweat-dampened forehead if he were to experience motion sickness with the royal guards present. The way Baekhyun would fret, barking out orders to the maids and watching from a far with bated breath and concerned eyes—partly because he couldn’t really stand the sight.

He missed them all, already.

**Author's Note:**

> the plot moves way too fast for my own liking but if i don't post this, i won't be able to sleep peacefully so...


End file.
